


A Man Walks into a Bar

by mogwai_do



Series: Three Degrees 'Verse [3]
Category: Hellblazer, Highlander: The Series, True Blood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sort of part of the Three Degrees 'Verse... maybe an AU of it? Just fulfilling a request for a bit of True Blood in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take 1: The Magician

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crowie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowie/gifts).



Eric sighed internally; it wasn’t hard to remain aloof and disdainful when so many of the mortals who came to Fangtasia were so pitifully eager to please. He was bored; his gaze roamed the crowd, even someone who could live forever found it hard not to count the minutes sometimes. He watched the interplay between mortals and vampires for a few minutes, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen a hundred times before. His eyes moved to the bar and paused: a lone drinker stood out like dirty gold amidst all the black and red of the crowd. Eric straightened almost imperceptibly in his throne; interestingly the man was probably also the only one in the entire bar not sending Eric surreptitious looks from time to time seeking approval or fearing censure.

The man looked like a stockbroker fallen on hard times: rumpled suit, scruffy trenchcoat and the glimpse of a snake-oil smile flashed at the corseted vampire who reached around him unsubtly to retrieve her drink. Then the man turned to lean back against the bar, beer in hand, and catching Eric’s cool gaze raised his glass in a half-mocking toast.

Eric pondered whether or not to be offended, but he was so bored that the insolence amused him. The man appeared to consider for a moment then turned back to the bar and ordered another, darker drink. Beer in one hand and blood in the other the man started on a direct line to Eric’s throne, weaving through the crowd with expert ease.

Behind him Eric heard Pam arrive and felt her curiosity at his allowing this blatant disrespect as with nary a pause the man stepped up onto the dais. An amused half-smile played on his lips as the man nodded briefly at Pam in greeting and then offered the glass of blood to Eric.

For a moment Eric was tempted to laugh at the sheer insolence, but he resisted the urge and instead fell into the persona he maintained for his appearances. “And who might you be?” he asked in the tone of one who had discovered something unpleasant on the sole of their shoe.

The man actually had the nerve to grin and behind him Eric felt Pam bristle.

“A friend of a friend of a friend …I think,” he replied glibly, making a show of mentally counting back through the links.

English as well and a long way from home it seemed. Eric raised an eyebrow coolly, but the man’s grin just broadened. He briefly contemplated a small demonstration of what the man was courting with his presumption, but he had the feeling it probably wouldn’t make any impact at all besides the physical.

Pam shifted her weight and he could sense the tension in her as she clearly also considered hurling the upstart man across the room. “Who Are You?” she repeated, the precision of her words sharp enough to cut.

Eric restrained his grin; Pam had plenty of bark, though she rarely bit, but it seemed this blonde Englishman pushed her buttons with unerring accuracy. The man turned, all innocence, and offered her the drink he’d first offered Eric and gave a short little bow.

“John Constantine,” he replied as if the name didn’t mean a thing to anyone in their circles. “And I’m here to do you a favour.”

Eric waved Pam back and leaned back in his throne with a small smile – his evening was suddenly looking a lot less tedious.


	2. Take 2: The Immortal

Fangtasia was as loud as it always was, meaningless, story-less songs blasting out across the crowd. Pam had suggested that he simply not open the bar tonight, but her argument had lacked its usual bite and that more than anything had told him how worried she was for him. He had overruled her with the same casual ease he always had, but he had made one concession to her concern. Wrapped in leather and disdain, Pam held court in his place, playing her role admirably as always, and if, enthroned, she was no longer free to hover over him then she clearly still had things to learn.

Eric had tried to at least use the evening productively, but stock orders could wait and the quiet of the backrooms was smothering, mocking the silent stillness at the back of his mind where his maker’s presence had once lived. It wasn’t hard to remain unnoticed in the darkness at the edges of the crowd; the other vampires knew he was there, but they also knew better than to approach.

Despite the music hammering at his ears, it felt like the quiet still surrounded him, following him from the backrooms like a dark cloud or the phantom scent of sun-scorched flesh. If he could not escape the empty silence of his mind, then he would defeat it and for that he needed no audience. Eric turned away from the roiling crowd and the seething mass of humanity that somehow still survived when his maker had not.

His hand was on the door when a scent came to him out of the gyrating mass of humanity and for a terrible, wonderful moment he thought Godric had somehow returned, but in the next breath that hope lay bleeding and shattered on the floor, trampled beneath the Goth boots of the usual Friday night crowd.

Ancient, yes, but the scent was not the same; it took another half-second for similarity to recall familiarity. Eric turned to look out over the crowd in time to see himself approached with a suicidal lack of caution by someone who looked barely old enough to be in the bar legally yet had a scent so old he could probably have invented hops.

It was strange how age could change one’s perspective as he watched the man thread through the crowd. He’d hated this friend of Godric’s when he’d first been introduced to him less than a century after his making. His jealousy then was a strange comfort now; he was actually glad that someone else valued Godric as he had and would miss him as much.

He watched impassively as the Immortal stepped close and Eric’s personal pool of silence rippled at the breach. Eric met green eyes dark with banked sorrow and dredged the man’s name from his memory, “Methos.”

Recollection of Godric’s admonishment regarding the use of his friend’s name pitched Eric’s voice so low even the vampires in the bar would have had difficulty hearing it. 

The Immortal’s lips twitched in a brief, sad smile, “Eric,” Methos greeted in turn, looking him up and down slowly, “You’ve grown.”

Despite himself, despite everything, Eric snorted in amusement and around him the bubble of silence shattered like glass.


End file.
